


The Masque

by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 3-D PRINTED FACES ON PARADE, All The Tropes, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Darcyland (Marvel), F/M, MAAASQUERADE, MASQUERADE!, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, SHIP DARCY LEWIS WITH ALL THE THINGS, ShieldShock - Freeform, Shieldshock Christmas Fic Exchange, The Magic of Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 05:49:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17156396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace/pseuds/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: Darcy ropes Steve into watching her six at her annoying cousin's Christmas Masquerade.  Strictly platonic, of course, because he doesn't have a crush on her, and she certainly doesn't have a crush on him, no, nope, no siree.It's gonna be a long night.





	The Masque

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlynnisIsta8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlynnisIsta8/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, GlynnisIsta8! This is the prompt I went with:
> 
> Set at a Christmas masquerade ball that Steve & Darcy attend as 'just friends' because both don't know the other wants MORE (mutual unrequited that gets... requited) ;)

‘Steve, you have to help me!’

Steve looked up from his book as Darcy plopped onto the couch next to him.  ‘What's wrong?’  He glanced around, but there didn’t seem to be any imminent threats.  For once.

‘My cousin’s invited me to this this super-fancy masquerade party she’s throwing, ostensibly for Christmas but really as a fundraiser for her husband’s anti-superhero activist group, and I need someone to go with me.’

He blinked.  ‘And you thought  _I'd_  be the best person to ask?’

‘Well, no.  Everyone else is busy.  Bucky laughed in my face, Bruce’s got Bag End on lockdown for the duration of the holidays—he's just lucky Tony put kitchenettes in all the labs—Sam is visiting his mom, and Clint is on vacation with Nat.  I think they’re in eastern Europe toppling a small dictatorship.’

He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted that he was literally the last person she asked.  Then again, she knew him well enough to know that schmoozing the New York elite was, as the kids say, very much not his thing.  ‘Okay, but what about Tony?  This sounds right up his alley.’

‘Pepper won't let him.  Something about not having his masquerade privileges back yet after last time.’  She waved dismissively, Tony’s party woes obviously immaterial to the matter at hand.  ‘So will you go with me?  Please?  I can’t go by myself.  Sally will trap me in a dark corner and spend the whole night telling me how wonderful Stanton and his stupid MMUPPET group is.’

Steve was well aware of Darcy’s fraught relationship with the cousin she referred to as her personal Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.  And MMUPPET (Movement for the Monitoring of Unsafe Powered People and Enhanced Technologies) was like a sliver in the collective Avengers’ finger—not life-threatening, but annoying and painful all the same.  ‘Here’s a crazy idea, what if you didn’t go?  No Sally, no MMUPPET, no uncomfortable costumes, we can just stay home and marathon _Clone Wars_ in our pajamas.’

If she noticed that he'd casually inserted himself into her night off scenario, she didn't mention it.  Besides, that's what friends did, right?  Hang out, eat junk food, and binge-watch TV?

Darcy groaned, letting her head fall back on the couch.  ‘Don’t make it worse than it already is!  Tilney already RSVP’d on my behalf, and if I don’t go, she’ll hunt me down and murder me in my sleep.’

She was exaggerating, but not by much.  People who thought Darcy was the scary Lewis had never met her baby sister.

She let her head roll toward him, pinning him with her largest, saddest puppy eyes.  Now that just wasn’t fair.  ‘Please go with me?  The food will be amazing!  All-you-can-eat, even if you’re a supersoldier with an insane metabolism.  Help me, Steven Grant Rogers!  You're my only hope!’

‘But Darcy,’ he said, putting a hand to his chest and batting his eyelashes, ‘I haven’t a thing to wear!  Unless I wear my uniform, but somehow I don’t think that would go over well.’

‘No, but it would be hilarious.  Wait, does that mean you'll go?’  As if he was ever going to turn her down.  He barely had time to nod before she threw her arms around him.  Her hair tickled his nose, filling his senses with the scent of vanilla and electrical fires.  It made the prospect of watching her back at Cousin Sally’s MMUPPET masquerade more than worth it.  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!  And don't worry about a costume,’ she added, pulling back all too soon.  ‘Tilney said she's got us covered.  Which, if you ask me, is the very least she can do, since she got us into this mess.  Any preference?’

Darcy would be a knock-out no matter what she wore, and as long as he was by her side, he didn’t care if Tilney put them in matching potato sacks.  He didn't say any of that. ‘Whatever Tilney comes up with will be fine.’

It was a little-know fact that Steve Rogers was a coward.

* * *

 

Darcy was going to murder Tilney.  Straight-up kill her sister, dead.  No one would ever find the body.

The problem was, Tilney was way too good at her job.

Darcy’s dress was gorgeous, of course.  It was a cloud of delicate butter-yellow silk trimmed with rich golden satin, miles above disappointing live-action remakes, but comfortably short of ornate Broadway musicals.  Her mask was a swirl of gold lace roses, which didn’t really do anything to conceal her identity, but it wasn’t as if anyone at the party would know or care who she was, anyway.  No, she didn’t have any complaints on her end.  Under any other circumstances, she would be delighted to cosplay her favourite princess.

Steve was the reason Tilney had to die.

His midnight-blue jacket covered his stupidly broad shoulders like he was a Regency gentleman and it had been made by hand over the course of several weeks by a group of neurotic tailors who worshiped at the altar of Beau Brummel.  (It was just possible she'd snuck too many of her mom's Regency romances as a teenager.)  The thing fit him like it was made especially for him and not just pulled from the depths of Tilney’s TARDIS-like costume closet.  Actually, it wouldn’t really surprise Darcy if her sister had managed to get her claws on Captain America’s measurements.  It was that or sorcery.

In addition to the stupid jacket and frankly even-stupider breeches, Tilney had provided him with a rather spectacular mask she’d made on her 3D printer (or conjured via sorcery.  It was basically the same thing), complete with horns and fangs.  Steve was the least beastly man she had ever met, but dangit if he didn’t make a good one.

He slowly pushed the mask up onto his head, that dumb lopsided grin on his dumb face.  ‘Wow, Darcy!  You look amazing!’

She looked amazing?  _She_ did?  Well, yes, actually, she knew she did.  But seriously, had the man even _glanced_ at a mirror after getting dressed?

Within the privacy of her mind, Darcy let out a gasping wheeze like the death rattle of a pterodactyl felled in mortal combat.  It was going to be a long night.

He held out an arm, escorting her down to the garage.  Tony was letting them borrow one of his cars for the night, since for obvious (poofy) reasons, Steve's bike wasn't going to cut it.  She'd argued hard for the Pagani Huayra, but Tony laughed, said ‘Nice try,’ and handed her the keys to one of his many Audis.

The way Steve drove, she couldn't really blame him.

The masquerade was dazzling, living up to the promise of every musical extravaganza she'd ever watched.  Even if the majority of the costumes seemed to benefit more from money than imagination.  Cousin Sally, for example, had added a pair of jewelled fairy wings to one of her many ball gowns, slapped on some body glitter, and called it a day.  Her fabulous husband, Stanton, was wearing a domino mask with his tuxedo.  A domino mask!  He could have at _least_ worn a white half-mask and gone for a Phantom look, but noooooo.  Philistine.

She was ashamed to be his second-cousin-in-law.

‘I can't believe I'm related to them,’ she moaned, leaning her forehead on Steve's shoulder.

He patted her arm.  ‘Distantly related,’ he reminded her.

‘Aww, thanks, Steve.’  She lifted her head to grin at him.  ‘You always say the sweetest things.’  It was hard to tell with the mask, but were his ears turning pink?

…nah.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the flutter of eye-wateringly sparkly fairy wings.  ‘Uh-oh.  Thar she blows.’

Steve tugged her onto the dance floor before Cousin Sally could do more than wiggle her fingers and say ‘Yoo-hoo!’

For the love of homicidal opera ghosts, who used yoo-hoo unironically?

Steve spun her into a perfect waltz, twirling her under his arm and making her skirt flare out in a most satisfactory manner.  She was vaguely aware that they weren't alone, but she was having trouble focusing on anything besides Steve, the warmth from the hand on her waist and the way the other swallowed hers whole, and the feel of firm, brocade-covered muscle under her fingers.

It was a good thing she could blame her burning cheeks on the dance, because otherwise he might get the crazy idea that it had something to do with him, and that would never do.  Steve was the sweetest dork she had ever met, and there was no way he would continue to eat junk food and binge watch shows with her one-on-one if he knew of her raging crush on him.  He was too much of a gentleman to put her in that position.

The problem was, she _liked_ hanging out with him, raging crush or no raging crush.  Most of the time she could even act like a normal human being around him.  And then there were the times when he was dressed like the actual Disney prince he was and spinning her around a glittering ballroom, and normal human behaviour went out the window.  Just like Steve would if he realized she was in love with him.

She knew the masquerade was a bad idea.

‘Darcy?’  Steve's voice pulled her from her existential crisis and back into his arms.  Not that she'd forgotten his arms, since they were the reason she was in crisis in the first place.  But, well.  She was good at getting distracted.

Steve's mouth moved again, and she blinked.   _Case in point._  ‘Sorry, what?’

‘Welcome back.  I was just asking if you wanted to go.  We've put in an appearance, so Tilney can't complain.  Plus, you kinda look like you want to punch me, and while I get that a lot, I don't think Sally would appreciate it if you started a fight in the middle of her party.’  Before she could answer, he spun her out and back again.  ‘Besides,’ he added as they settled back into the rhythm of the dance, ‘like Tony always says, my pretty face is the only thing I've got going for me, so I can't afford for you to mess it up.’  He grinned, and she wished that mask of his didn't cover everything except his eyes and lips, his two most distracting features.  Besides his shoulders, and arms, and—

_You're doing it again.  Bad Darcy._

‘Trust me, Rogers, punching is the last thing I want to do to your pretty face.’

He gaped at her, and she took a moment to review her sentence.

It was not a good sentence.

‘Besides,’ she added quickly, ‘we haven't hit the buffet yet, and we gotta get our money's worth.  Are you hungry?  I'm hungry.’  She stepped out of his arms and towed him toward the food by their clasped hands.

‘We didn't pay to come here,’ he pointed out, voice distracted.

She eyed him over her shoulder.  ‘Time is money, Steve,’ she told him gravely.

At the buffet, she grabbed a plate and began piling food on it.  ‘Look at this spread!  Told you the food would be good, didn't I?’

‘You did, yes.  Darcy—’

‘Hey, they've got mini burgers!  I love those!’

‘That's great.  Darcy—’

‘And chocolate covered strawberries!  I mean, those are basically required, but it doesn't mean they're not delicious.’

‘I'm sure they are.  Darcy—’

‘You'd better hurry up and fill your plate, because I am not saving any for you.’

‘Darcy!’  He caught her arm as she snagged a mini meat pie, halting her before she could drop it on her overfull plate.  ‘What did you mean?’

‘What?’

He got that weirdly determined look in his eyes that usually meant he was either about to do something Bucky would yell at him for or risk life and limb in a crazy scheme to defeat the Forces of Evil.

Oddly enough, it was usually the same thing.

‘When you said punching was the last thing you want to do to my face.  What did you mean?’

She blinked at him.  He blinked back. This was obviously the time for that mature, grown-up discussion of _feelings_ she had so desperately wanted to avoid _._ Still wanted to.   _This must be how he feels right before he jumps out windows to avoid his problems._  There were no windows handy.  Even if there were, it wasn't like she was a supersoldier who could throw herself out of multiple-story buildings with impunity.  Instead she shoved the entire meat pie into her mouth and stared at him, cheeks bulging like a manic chipmunk, as she tried to figure out how to salvage the situation.

Nothing was coming to mind.

He seemed to realized he'd caused a critical failure in her operating system, because behind the mask his determined I'm Contemplating Doing Something Stupid face settled into a resolved This is Me, Doing Something Stupid face.  The hand that still cupped her elbow slid down her arm to thread his fingers through hers, and he tugged her, chipmunk cheeks, loaded plate, and all, to the nearest exit.

He pulled them both into the first empty room and turned, gently plucking the plate from her hand and setting it on a low table before taking her hands in both of his.  He cleared his throat, and she concentrated on chewing and swallowing as fast as she could without choking on meat pie.  The circles he was drawing on the backs of her hands with his thumbs weren’t helping.  ‘I think—I _hope_ —that maybe you meant something along the lines of, well…’ he trailed off, frowning at a point somewhere behind her head.  

She chewed faster.

He cleared his throat and started again.  ‘You're the most amazing person I've ever met.  The time I spend with you is the best part of my day.’

She swallowed the last of the pie— _finally—_ and cleared her own throat.  ‘Steve—’

‘I love that we can talk about anything.  I love hanging out with you, and I don't want to screw that up.’

This was promising.  ‘Steve—’

‘And maybe I'm completely misreading the situation.  It wouldn't be the first time.  And if that's the case, we can just pretend this conversation never happened.’

She almost snorted at that.   _What_ conversation?  It wasn't like he was letting her get a word in edgewise.   _‘Steve—’_

‘I'd rather just be friends than lose you completely because I got greedy.’

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.  He was sweet.  He was a gentleman.  He was driving her up a wall.  He was—

—standing under a sprig of mistletoe.  

Well then.  This she could work with.

Tugging her hands from his, she reached up, shoved his mask out of the way, and pulled his head down to hers.

He froze against her, and for a long, terrifying instant, she thought maybe _she'd_ misread the situation.  But then his arms came up and wrapped securely around her and she melted into him.  He didn't seem to object to her attacking him in an abandoned sitting room.  And given the way he coaxed her lips open with his own, he certainly didn't seem to care that her breath smelled like meat pie.

She decided she didn't care either, and slid one hand into his hair.  He made a low noise in the back of his throat and tilted his head, deepening the kiss as one hand came up to frame her face.  Oh yes, that was nice.  More of that, please.

When they parted—too soon, far too soon—he rested his forehead against hers as she tried, with limited success, to get her breathing back to normal.  ‘Wow.’

He laughed, his own breathing unsteady.  ‘Yeah.’

‘We should have some that a long time ago.’

‘Why didn't we?’

She brushed his nose with her own.  ‘Probably ’cause we're both oblivious, insecure nerds.’

‘Hey!’  He pulled back to squint down at her.  ‘Who are you calling a nerd?’

‘I'm not the one who started a barbershop quartet, am I?’

‘Fair point.’  He kissed the tip of her nose.  ‘So what happens now?’

‘Now…’  She pressed a delicate kiss to his lips.  ‘We stuff our faces, dance until dawn—only not literally, because I'm too old to stay up past my bedtime, and we're already up way past yours—and, basically, just keep doing what we've been doing.  Just with more kissing.’

She grinned at him, and he leaned down to kiss her smile.  ‘A lot more kissing.’

‘Totally.’  Her voice was going breathy again as as he started kissing along the line of her jaw.  ‘Darcy and Steve: Now with added kissing!’

He buried his face in the crook of her neck with a laugh.  ‘That sounds like an excellent plan.’

**Author's Note:**

> Tilney bribed, threatened, and bullied all the other Avengers into turning Darcy down. Ain't nobody taking her to that masquerade except Steve. Tony, however, really does have his masquerade privileges revoked. HE KNOWS WHAT HE DID.
> 
> They do end up leaving early, but not before stuffing as many hor d'oeuvres into the bag Darcy smuggled along as would fit.
> 
> Merry Christmas to all!


End file.
